


Right Place, Right Time

by AngelQueen



Category: Downton Abbey, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death Fix, F/M, Fix-It, God help me I couldn't resist, Healing, Magic, Merlin saves the day even in modern times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 06:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelQueen/pseuds/AngelQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The horror of the wreck contrasted terribly with the beauty of the forest surrounding it. AU S3CS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Place, Right Time

**Author's Note:**

> After watching the third series Christmas Special last night, I just couldn't resist writing this. If anyone could have done anything to save Matthew, it's Merlin. Or, for the purposes of this story, he could at least.

The horror of the wreck contrasted terribly with the beauty of the forest surrounding it. The car had flipped, and now seemed little more than a twisted hunk of metal death. Merlin shuddered as he hurriedly approached the scene. He had seen such things in the war, fighting the Germans on planes of mud and blood - oh, what would Arthur think, some part of him still wondered, even after all these years, him fighting in a war - but now the war was over. Such things shouldn’t happen now.

But they did. No life was ever completely safe, even here in rural Yorkshire. 

It didn’t take him long to find the car’s lone occupant, and even as he heard the crunch of approaching feet, Merlin could barely restrain a cry. For one horrible, terrible, _frightening_ moment, he could have sworn it was Arthur who lay pinned beneath what remained of the car. Arthur, who had been dead for over a thousand years and yet there were still times when Merlin swore he was standing just out of the corner of his eye, watching him. Like when he was alone in his little bookshop in the village, there were times when he thought he heard Arthur snort when Merlin paused in his shelving to read one of the books of poetry. Or deep in the hell that had been Amiens, when he saw one fair-haired soldier thrust himself in front of another, shielding him from the blast. It had never been, nor was it now, but oh, for just a _moment_ , it _was_.

And then, just like that, Merlin found himself in the present, where Arthur was long gone, and someone else desperately needed help if they were to live to see the sunset.

“Is he all right?” a frightened voice cried. Merlin looked up and saw a middle-aged man in plain clothing peering down at him from just up the hill. 

“He’s in a bad way,” Merlin shouted back. “Get to the nearest house with a phone and call for an ambulance!” Thankfully, the man didn’t need to be told twice as he whirled and raced back up the hill. Not giving him any further thought, Merlin returned his attention to the unconscious young man in front of him. Now that his mind was clearer, he could recognize the man for who he truly was - Matthew Crawley, the heir to the earldom of Grantham and Lady Mary Crawley’s husband. The man was a fairly frequent visitor to his bookshop, a man of eclectic tastes, curious about everything from law books to histories to poetry to fiction. Fair-haired with blue yes, Merlin thought it a little understandable that he might mistake the man for Arthur. The resemblance was there, if one looked.

But no time for that. Mr. Crawley was near death, almost on the very threshold of it. Those blue eyes stared sightlessly out from his pale face, which was marred by a trickle of dark blood coming across his cheek.

“No,” Merlin murmured, reaching out to touch the man’s forehead. “Not today, Mr. Crawley. Not today, not tomorrow, not for many years yet. You have far too much to live for.” Was not Lady Mary expecting a baby? Mr. Crawley could hardly die now.

Merlin closed his eyes. Magic had not departed from the world, as he had once feared it would as science and technology began to overrun everything, leaving no room for such things. It still remained, hidden, but still vibrant, still part of the fabric of life, just as Mr. Crawley still was, if only by a few shredded threads.

He could not heal him completely. To do so would only invite questions, require explanations that Merlin could not give without sounding like a madman. Still, if he did nothing, the other man would be dead long before that ambulance arrived. He let the magic flow out of him in a way that he had not done in some time, let it find Mr. Crawley and sink into his broken body, mending the worst of his injuries. The man’s neck had snapped, along with his back and both his legs. Even several of his ribs were crushed, though thankfully none of those had punctured any of his organs. That was surely a miracle.

He’d heal his back and the neck, which would restore the man at least partially. There was a concussion too, but Merlin would let that and the broken legs remain. Those would be considered consistent with what the man had suffered, and would hopefully keep the ever-inquisitive Doctor Clarkson from asking too many questions. Perhaps they’d regard Mr. Crawley’s survival as a miracle. The man was certainly known for his luck, given his recovery from his war injuries.

Merlin was barely aware of time passing. He only paid attention to what his magic was doing - restoring the broken parts of Mr. Crawley’s body, and then removing the car’s twisted remains from atop him. The other man proved he was still alive at that moment, crying out in pain as the car was lifted away from him. The sound was terrible, but thankfully, it lasted only a moment before he mercifully sank back into unconsciousness.

Merlin gazed down at him before placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be alright, Mr. Crawley,” he whispered tiredly. “Just hold on.”

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but eventually, Merlin heard the sound of a vehicle approaching, tires squealing to a stop on the road. Then there was the sound of running, people shouting. Merlin, exhausted from the use of his magic to keep Mr. Crawley alive, still managed to shout back, alerting them to their position. The next several minutes were a chaotic haze as several orderlies from the hospital carefully placed Mr. Crawley on a stretcher and began to carry him up the embankment. Someone else must have helped him up, though he wasn’t entirely sure who.

The next time he felt fully aware, Merlin found himself lying on a hospital bed. He sat up slowly, wincing at the damnable ache in his head. Glancing around, he saw that a glass of water had been left on the small table beside his bed, which he took up and drank slowly, but gratefully.

He thought about getting up and seeing about being discharged, but before Merlin could do so, the door to his room opened and in came two people, both of whom he instantly recognized. The first was Doctor Clarkson, his back straight and his expression as firm but kind as ever. The sight of him suddenly made Merlin recall that a package of books that the physician had ordered had arrived, and made a note to tell him when he had a chance to. The second person was Mrs. Isobel Crawley, Matthew Crawley’s mother. 

“Ah, good, you’re awake, Mr. Emrys,” Clarkson said as he shut the door behind him and Mrs. Crawley.

Merlin nodded, setting the glass back down on the bedside table. “Just a few minutes ago, Dr. Clarkson.”

“You were quite in shock when they brought you in,” the physician continued. “We were going to just have you sit down for a few minutes and have some water, but Lord Grantham insisted that you have your own private room to recover yourself. He’s already paid for it all, so no need to worry about the cost.”

Merlin nodded, raising a faint eyebrow. The private bedrooms in the hospital were usually reserved for women who were giving birth, or people who were deeply sick or injured. The minor cases were usually just put in the dormitories until they were discharged. Mr. Crawley was likely in a private room. He - 

Merlin’s head shot up, his eyes widening. “Mr. Crawley,” he exclaimed. “Is he all right? I didn’t -”

Mrs. Crawley, who had been silent since she’d come into the room, reached out and patted his arm. “My son is recovering, Mr. Emrys,” she said, and he looked at her more closely. She was pale, and there was a faint redness about her eyes, but the light in them fairly shone with gratitude. “You saved his life, sir, and I will never be able to thank you enough for that.”

Merlin relaxed again, breathing a great sigh of relief. He’d practically poured his magic into Mr. Crawley, but had also been forced to restrain it from healing him completely. It was something he had done many times during the war, but not always successfully. Each case was different, and while many of the men he’d tried to help had lived, not all of them had. “I’m so glad to hear it,” he replied at last. “I told them to hurry about the ambulance, and I did what I could for his wounds, but I wasn’t sure if it was doing him any good.”

“Whatever you did, it saved his life,” Clarkson assured him. He cocked his head curiously. “I wasn’t aware you had any medical training, Mr. Emrys.”

Merlin smiled sadly. He’d been trained by one of the finest physicians of his day, but that had been so long ago. Many of Gaius’ remedies would be considered horrendously outdated, and no doubt Clarkson and Mrs. Crawley both would be horrified by some of them. “My uncle was a physician,” he explained. “He taught me a few things, and I learned by watching him. Picked up a few things during the war too.”

“But you never tried to become a doctor yourself?” Mrs. Crawley asked.

He shook his head. “I never had the patience to go through it all. I loved reading, but not just medical texts. I’m happy with my bookshop, no mistake there.”

The two older people nodded and there was a moment of silence as Merlin slowly stood up. “I should be going. I’ve probably held this room up enough.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Crawley said, “before you do, my son wants to speak with you, to thank you. Lady Mary too.”

Merlin glanced at her, surprised. “That’s perfectly all right, ma’am. There’s no need. I only did what anyone would have done -”

“Nonsense,” she cut him off. “You did far more, and Lady Mary insisted.” A faint smile crossed her lips. “I’m sure you know how determined she is.”

Merlin couldn’t help but chuckle. He didn’t know Lady Mary well, but everyone in Downton knew how fiery and stubborn she could be. “Well, all right,” he conceded. “If you don’t think it too much for them. They’ve been through so much…”

“Not at all,” Mrs. Crawley maintained. “Lady Mary is quite well recovered, and my son has been placed in her room. It was the only way we could keep her calm,” she added, muttering under her breath as she turned to lead them out of the room.

Merlin followed her and Clarkson down the corridor and around a corner. As they turned, Merlin quickly spotted a small group standing around one of the closed doors. He quickly recognized them too - Lord Grantham, Lady Grantham, the Dowager Countess, Lady Edith, and Tom Branson, the former chauffeur, the late Lady Sibyl’s husband, and a frequent customer in Merlin’s own shop. The man had quite an appetite for revolutionary texts. They all looked up as one as the three of them approached.

“Ah, Mr. Emrys,” Lord Grantham strode forward, his hand outstretched. Before Merlin could so much as blink, the earl had gotten hold of his hand and was shaking it vigorously. “I can’t even begin to know how to thank you for saving our Matthew’s life.”

Lady Grantham appeared at her husband’s side. She seemed just as pale as Mrs. Crawley had appeared earlier, and her eyes were bright. “Yes, thank you. I don’t know what we’d have done if you hadn’t been there for him.”

Lady Edith and the Dowager Countess also expressed their gratitude, though the latter was far less exuberant than the others, though no less sincere. She was just from a different generation than the others, far more used to restraining herself, especially in front of someone from the ‘lower classes.’ Anyone else, Merlin figured, would probably be stammering and blushing in the face of being thanked so energetically by the first family of the area, but Merlin had served the greatest king and queen ever known, and had never had a problem being himself and telling them exactly what was on his mind. The nobility had never held any mystique for him.

“You’re most welcome, but really, there’s no need to thank me,” he assured them. “Really, I didn’t do what anyone else would have done.” He then glanced at Lord Grantham. “I should also be thanking you, my lord, for the use of the hospital room.”

The older man shook his head. “It’s the least I could do.”

Clarkson stepped in then, gently reminding them that Lady Mary and Mr. Crawley both wanted to speak to Merlin. They all obediently stepped back, allowing the physician to knock quietly on the door before opening it. He peeked inside and said, “Mr. Emrys is here, Lady Mary. Are you feeling up to speaking to him now, or shall I have him come back later?”

A firm, but feminine voice replied, “Oh no, please, have him come in, Doctor Clarkson.”

Clarkson nodded and opened the door all the way before stepping aside to let Merlin go in. He walked past the other man and into the room. It was a little bigger than the one he’d been put in, though it still seemed meant to be a private room. However, another bed had been placed inside, just off to the left of the original bed, and Merlin could clearly see Mr. Crawley lying in it, his eyes closed in sleep.

The occupant of the other bed, however, was wide awake. Lady Mary, whom he’d only ever seen from a distance, was sitting up in the bed, dressed quite finely in a white nightgown with a shawl wrapped about her shoulders. She also held a small baby securely in her arms. When their eyes met, she smiled at him brightly.

“Mr. Emrys,” she said, “I’m sure you’ve been inundated with the thanks of everyone in my family, but I must add my own to it all as well.” She glanced down first at her baby, and then over at her sleeping husband, and her dark eyes grew soft. Lady Mary had a reputation in Downton for being a good woman, but a sometimes harsh one. Looking at her now, though, Merlin couldn’t think anything of the sort. 

“If you hadn’t been there,” she continued, her voice lowering to barely more than a whisper, “my son would no doubt be facing a life without his father, and me without my husband.” She looked back up at him again, and Merlin saw the faint sheen of tears. “Thank you, sir, for saving not just his life, but mine and my baby’s.”

He opened his mouth to repeat the sentiments he’d given to the others, but found that the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he found himself staring at Lady Mary and, despite her reputation, he found himself thinking about how similar to Gwen she was. Though Gwen had a far gentler disposition, she was hard and tough when she had to be. It had been the ability to mix those traits that had made Gwen such a successful ruler. However, he also remembered the sadness that always hung about her like a cloud, how her eyes would often drift to the empty throne beside her in the years after Camlann. She had been lonely and sad without Arthur, even as she busied herself with ruling Camelot. 

Merlin hadn’t been able to save her from living that kind of life, but maybe he had saved Lady Mary from enduring it.

Finally, he spoke up. “You’re welcome, Lady Mary,” he said softly. “You’re most welcome. I’m glad I was there to help.”

She smiled at him again, and her eyes once more darted between her sleeping husband and son. There didn’t seem to be anything more to say, so Merlin quietly let himself out of the room. The rest of the Crawley clan seemed to have made itself scarce, which let Merlin leave the hospital in peace.

A few days later, Merlin received a note from the hospital, delivered by one of the local boys that worked as messengers there. Once he had finished with Mr. Travis, who was looking for some theological text, Merlin went into the back and sat down to open it. After slicing it with a letter knife, he unfolded it. 

_Thank you_ , it said, _for giving me another chance at life. Just like your namesake, you preserved me from the jaws of death. No words will ever convey the depth of my gratitude._

_M. Crawley_


End file.
